The Division - London
by AgentSaint
Summary: Written by a commuter. Inspired by real events. Set in the Division world.
1. Chapter 1

Diagnosis

"Good morning Mr Saint, we have your blood test results. When are you next available to see your GP?"

I'd only gone for a check-up as a result of my dad getting ill but then my family started showing concern for my health. I don't live near them, not far but far enough for it to only be around birthdays, Christmas, weddings that kind of thing, that we meet up.

"I can get in after work today if that works."

A routine check-up. That's all it was. That's what it was supposed to be.

"I'll book you in straight away."

The GP is never available at such short notice. Two weeks it normally takes. If you're dying get yourself to the hospital. If not, whatever it is you think you have, it can wait.

"Ok, thanks."

I arrived at the surgery in plenty of time. Checked my reflection on the way in. Ok, so I looked tired – black rings around my eyes, hair a little unkempt and greying hairs on my chin – but that was normal. I'd lost weight too but that's a good thing right? Only last summer were my family telling me I looked good, asking if I'd been training again. Truth is exercise was the last thing on my priority list but I took the compliments. Just a routine check-up. Their concerns are just a reflection of their own stress around dad.

"Good afternoon, and how are you feeling today?"

"Fine thank you."

"Ok, great. That's great."

She shuffled uneasily through the papers in front of her. Clicked a few keys and stared at her monitor. Readying herself to drop whatever news it was she had."

"So, Mr Saint, if I could just ask you a few questions. Tell me again why you came in."

I retold the story of my dad. How he'd suffered with a painful neck for several months, that it had got to the point where the doctor had sent him for an MRI only to find out that his top-two vertebrae were basically Swiss-cheese. A result of having contracted some tropical virus twenty odd years ago that had slowly been eating away from the inside out. How my family were showing concern for my welfare, that I looked like I'd lost weight. How I'd brushed all of it off as them just transferring their worry for my dad onto me. "It's nothing," I told them "just stress of the job." I believed I was fit, healthy. Nothing could touch me. I was the only one in my family that didn't need glasses, never suffered allergies, never got ill. Whenever I needed medical attention growing up it was because I'd hurt myself properly. Like tearing 99% of everything in my ankle skateboarding then walking home from town or breaking my collarbone at school and carrying on playing football. Sure, I was fine.

"Ok, and what about family history? Any aneurisms or heart attacks…diabetes?"

"No, nothing. My grandparents are in their nineties, still bowls champions."

"Right…well…I have some news for you. Mr Saint you _are_ diabetic."

"What?"

"Yes, sorry about that."

"...I…"

"Unfortunately, there are further issues. You simply don't fit the profile of either a type 1 or type 2."

"How so?"

I'd had such little experience with diabetes I didn't know there were two types let alone knew what the difference was between them.

"Well, normally type 1 is identified in children or young people. Teenagers. You are…36?"

"Yeah…yes"

"And type 2 is normally a result of lifestyle factors. Eating, drinking, lack of exercise that kind of thing…"

I have always eaten healthily. It was drilled into me as a kid and on my teaching pay I'm lucky to have anything left over after bills to spend on beer, as much as I'd love to have more than my fill from time to time, it just doesn't happen. Especially now I have three kids. As for exercise, sure I could do more but it wasn't that long ago I'd given up my job as an outdoor-pursuits instructor.

"…but it says here you ran the London Marathon a couple of years ago? So you see, we're not quite sure how to proceed. You're…an anomaly."

"Right. So what do I do?"

At this point my head started spinning. The GP began to explain her vague plan of medication and further checks, a list of appointments that would now become my routine. I'd lost focus. Started planning how the conversation might go with my wife when I got home.

"Hi darling. So, what did they say?"

Turned out it wasn't the only news we got that day. And certainly not the worst.


	2. Chapter 2

Activated

I walked to the station, my head still in a mess. I'd not noticed anything unusual around me. People are always weird at this time on a Thursday. Rushing to get home. Friday is a write-off for most people. The start of the end of the week. Thursday was the real last working week day. The sooner you get home the sooner the weekend starts. Everyone's always in a rush for one reason or another. This is London.

It had been a little over a year since New York and things, as they inevitably do, settle back into some kind of routine. There was still the fallout definitely, the United States had been brought to its knees but it was fighting back. Once communication had been re-established there was a new guy in charge. No one knew where he'd come from or how he got into the post. Of course there were rumours that he had something to do with the outbreak but, seeing as there were no opposing voices, the rest of the world leaders addressed him as his title befits. What we did know was that this new POTUS was a former businessman and that's exactly how he came across. Social subtlety and political diplomacy were not his forte. He was a man of action, angrily pointing the finger of blame every-which way and looking like he was going to bring on WWIII anyway as a show of power. He blamed former allies for their lack of action. Threw out accusations that they knew it was coming and did nothing to stop it. Of course, he blamed the Middle-East for the attack but the rest of the world thought…knew…it was an inside job.

The 'Dollar Bug' they called it. Some form of virus spread though common currency. No-one knew 100% who had committed this act or even had a clear idea what the motivation was. Some say that died with the perpetrator, that he…she…they had got caught up in all the havoc, but we watched it all happen. In this age of live-streaming and social media anything and everything gets out there. As much as the States government tried to control it we all saw it happen. The terrifying scenes of mass-panic, protests, violence. We watched from afar as this superpower was humbled. As society fell apart.

The Dollar Bug…we all know how the media like to sensationalise everything. What's the point of a story, an exclusive, if it isn't dramatic? We dismissed it as such. We knew it had gone to shit when reporters started towing the line. 'Situation under control…threat has been contained…virus neutralised' when inflammatory language presented by excitable reporters was replaced with scientific reasoning broadcast from what looked like a thinly-veiled, hermetically-sealed laboratory. It was intended to re-establish confidence, bring informed calm to the masses. It didn't. It was too late. The whole world had watched it happen. But this POTUS was right. Instead of coming to the rescue we, like every other country on every other continent, battened down the hatches. Closed off all forms of travel, in or out. Restricted imports and heavily vetoed any further contact and communication. We settled back on our God-given right to be an island. Until it was safe. War had near enough broken out. But it was civil war. Not our fight. No allies came to the rescue. Those who had survived formed factions but what it came down to was the age old decision for every individual – am I a good guy or a bad guy?

I am one of the good guys.

Which is how I came to find myself, stood on the station platform, answering the phone. It was my wife. Apparently I'd already missed seven of her calls over the last hour.

"Are you safe?"

"Yes darling, I'm on my way home now."

"Where have you been?"

"I was at the doctors. They had my results. I was going to tell you when I got home…"

"It's not that…it's…"

"Look, I'm fine, I'll tell you all about it as soon as I get home. Don't worry about me. My train's coming now…"

"No, wait...you don't understa…I've been _activated_."

I might as well have been stood on the tracks the way that word hit me.

"What?!"

"I've been activated."

"…but you're…"

"I know I know, it doesn't make sense. But this is real."

My wife was second wave, she wasn't supposed to be activated, not yet. Not until the first responders had dealt with the situation. Or at least not until they…we had failed. I am a first-responder.

Maybe it's in our nature. Complacency. That instinct, however wrong it has proven to be, that we feel it could never happen to us. It had been over a year since New York. We'd experienced pitiful attempts from wannabe terrorists since then who always turned out to be little more than vulnerable, desperate types preyed upon by some distant, removed extremist propaganda. They were always dealt with through the normal means. Police. MI5/MI6. Our service wasn't necessary.

Maybe we'd been waiting for so long to be called up we had just come to the conclusion that it would…could never happen. It was part of our training but we fooled ourselves into believing that, having both been inducted, we could handle it when the time came. I don't know what we were thinking the day our eldest was conceived…or born…let alone our third. They tell you to embed yourself in society, be one of them, but never get close. 'It could never happen to us'…

"I can't do it. I can't do it! I _can't_ …the kids!" I could hear the rising panic in her voice that she had clearly supressed until now "…wait, haven't you...?"

I glanced down at my wrist. A pulsing orange glow emitting from underneath my shirt cuff.

"I'll tell you when I get home…"


	3. Chapter 3

Operational

'Home' was now relative. Home used to be a specific building in which we had collated a mass of objects that represented us. Visitors could scan each room and learn a little more about its occupants. Watching, listening, reading, travelling tastes. Smells alerted them to more current or even intimate knowledge. Who had eaten what for dinner last night. How recently had the bins been emptied. How highly the residents regarded personal hygiene.

Home. For the foreseeable future this would now be used to describe anywhere anyone could satisfy the most basic of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Warmth. Food. Security.

I must have only been standing there for a moment but it felt like years as I contemplated the immediate future. For my wife. My kids. This crowd of people around me as yet uncomprehending of what had happened. What was about to happen. Like me. What had happened?! _I_ wasn't even aware. There had been no mass panic. No stampedes. No screams. I looked from face to face. Blank. Probably wondering what time they'd get home. What they'd have for dinner. What tv programme they'd switch on in order to sit down and switch off.

I had been given my brief. I recalled my training. I turned away from the platform and took my first steps into the much speculated but essentially unknown life that lay ahead.

Within the hour I had reported at the agreed location. A large but uninspiring building. Essentially a concrete block divided into evenly spaced squares by windows. Architecturally it looked like a child had drawn it with a pencil and a ruler. This was our HQ. It had been home to numerous offices, small business set-ups. People coming and going on a daily basis, recognising each other at the lift, sharing space and small-talk a friendly smile or brief nod but never chasing a relationship past the surface requirements. I was yet to learn how they had evacuated it and set up operations. From here we had access in and out of the city-centre by road, river and rail networks. This was now my home. First things first…I needed to find out what had happened.

"Agent Saint!"

I first met my handler 13 years ago. On a lads holiday in Newquay of all places. But that was the point. There was…is nothing particularly special about me. They were recruiting people from all walks of life. Normal people doing normal jobs. Nurses and doctors. Teachers and pub managers. Shop staff, mechanics, and leaders from every faith. This was their objective…it was to become our job to 'return life to normal'. Clearly this task was much easier said than done considering the rest of that sentence was 'following an extinction level event – natural or man-made'. Here we were, on the brink of what had become known amongst agents as TEOTWAWKI, or 'the end of the world as we know it', and all hope of 'normal' was in our hands.

"Agent Saint…"

My moniker wasn't my birth name. When joining The Division we had been allocated new names, new job roles, new homes, new lives. Our only task, up until now, was to 'fit in'. 'Sleeper agents' was the term our American cousins used. That sounded cool. To a young man in his early twenties with nothing to lose, that sounded cool. Anything was better than the life I was leading anyway right? I had been a bar manager. Starting work at 7am and working through until 3am, with barely a break in between, my life had become pretty much nocturnal. My days off were spent sleeping, waking just in time to join the rest of the world going out-out. The same ritual every night. No need to wait for the weekend. I was in the business after all. A couple of pints down the pub, catching up with mates before someone thinks it's a good idea to get the shots in. Next thing you know you're standing outside the same old kebab place sharing stories about the girls you fancied your chances with - having agreed to meet up with them at whatever club it was they'd mentioned a couple of hours earlier. No-one could ever remember.

My mates called me 'Saint' because my dad had been the leader of a church. I was one of the few in our group who wasn't obsessively chasing sex as an end game. I don't know…maybe it was because of my upbringing. It wasn't like I was completely clean. I'd dabbled in all vices at some point. It's easy to put it down to just being part of the scene – working in bars – but I was still known as the 'son of a preacher man' - my mates often coming to me for those deeper chats, the moral 'what if's' – and that nickname had eventually been shortened to…

" _Agent_ _Saint!_ "

"Yes, sorry."

"How are you?"

As bizarrely out of place as this question first seemed it was reassuringly normal

"Fine, thanks. You?"

Obviously a complete lie but you go through the motions. She ignored formalities and cut straight to the point

"It's been a while. Things have…changed. The situation has dictated our directive."

"What _is_ the situation?!"

"That will all become clear."

" _What_ will become clear?"

"Agent Saint, _it_ is clear that, following New York, our original hope to 'return life to normal' was little more than an ideal. New orders have come in. We are to defend what remains."

" _Remains?!_ What…wait…I… _remains?!_ "

"I don't yet have the full picture myself. What I can tell you is that our next movements are going to be pre-emptive. Something we did learn from New York is that it is no good sitting around waiting for it to happen. We have been keeping tabs on all of the normal chatter. Without going into it too much before I brief everyone, we are putting into place all extreme precautions."

My brain was under great stress trying to access many different parts simultaneously, nothing was moving in a straight line. 'All extreme precautions'. I had heard that at my induction but what did it mean. Come on brain!

"We know about your wife."

My panicked brain immediately halted. It clearly showed on my face.

"Of course we've been checking in on you. They're beautiful, your kids. You're not the only one. It didn't surprise us. It can do things to a person, trying to keep such a big secret. We're actually glad. There were a number who tried, did their best, to fit in. To go about life as normally as possible. It killed them some of them. Literally. Others have found solace in a bottle. Like I said, it didn't surprise us. But you do realise, Saint, she's on the outside now."

'All extreme precautions'. Finally, my brain recalled what that meant in crystal clarity. The M25. My wife…my family…were outside the M25. A bit of a national joke, the M25 was going to become the outer edge of operations. A border. Nothing leaves. Nothing enters. Everything within the M25 - this city was about to become divided. Segregated by invisible lines that have become an intrinsic part of London life. Zones. Boroughs. Districts. _Everything_ within the M25. Divided.

We are The Division.


	4. Chapter 4

Fallen

The next 17 days were some of the worst I believe this city has ever seen.

We'd survived attacks – from external and internal sources. Enemies both foreign and homegrown. This city has seen off numerous attempts to cut it to the core, unravel that which has knit us together so tightly, undermine the infrastructure. Survival is innate. Whatever the motive, we have remained. When events have sought to isolate each one of us, we have only drawn closer.

It is bizarre. Comparing and contrasting the every-day with abnormalities. Take a walk around the city and it's clear who lives, works, breathes London and who is visiting. The tourist. The immediate signs are where their focus is. Head down or head up. Mouth open, eyes raised, a look of wonder upon their face. Or gritted teeth and locked jaws, eyes keenly surveying the quickest way through the maddening crowd that stands between them and their destination. Determined. This is how you get around London. Other people are simply an obstacle. The well-practised have developed a confident stride, a well-timed twist of the hips and drop of the shoulder to pass through the smallest of gaps. Traffic lights are for novices. Buses, taxis and pedestrians all moving in an organic and constant state of flux, much like shoals responding to larger fish or predators. We were in charge of our fate. Ignoring the warnings.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened.

They were always there of course. Always around us, but they had become just another bit of the background, white noise. It's only now, looking back, did someone…know? The Transport for London's incessant 'See it, Say it, Sorted' tagline tannoy announcements. Just another hashtag. The increase of armed MET officers. Another obstacle on the station platforms. 'Take care'. 'Mind the gap'. 'Catch it, bin it, kill it'. Ignored. We'll do what we want, when we want, how we want. This is London.

17 days. That's all it took. Peace to absolute pandemonium.

It started very subtly. 'Roadworks' began popping up here and there. Diversions. No through road. Followed by police cordons. Malfunctioning rail systems and Oyster cards restricted movement. Bus services cancelled and traffic signal failures. It was happening all over the city but not that people knew that. They had their daily routine. Kept themselves to themselves. It was inconvenient but having to work from home was a welcome nuisance. The news did not highlight in reports that, what was happening in Croydon, was also happening simultaneously in Hillingdon, Barnet and Havering. Districts. Boroughs. Zones. Invisible lines slowly becoming very tangible. From the outside in. There was no evacuation procedure. No option or opportunity to leave. People did try of course - the more savvy or simply deeply suspicious - but we are all creatures of habit. Bags were hurriedly packed, essential and non-essential items grabbed. Things that would genuinely have been of use were forgotten while home-owners made sure they'd turned off the gas, switched off the electrical appliances that would survive without them. The fridge always left on, to keep the food from going off. Those that got out only succeeded in removing themselves to the next zone. Once the lines had been enforced they were homeless. Standing within a stone's throw of their home they suddenly found themselves wondering…'why didn't I pack the food?'

I imagine that, at some point, the closure of the Dartford tunnel and bridge did not go unnoticed to the outside world, that trains coming from Leeds, Birmingham and Bristol were consistently being redirected but that's all it was. My imagination. Maybe no-one noticed at all. Outside.

The general public became unsettled. Demands were made. Information required. No longer placated by excuses or assurances that the member of staff to whom they were talking would "refer to their manager and get back to them as soon as possible."

Unrest developed into protest. Protest into riots. Damage to property became violence against others. There are always those that take advantage of such a situation. Looting became rife. Fear, panic, anger lead to deaths. Control was necessary but it wasn't always regained in ways that were in the 'interests of the people'. The MET lead the effort, supported by members of the armed forces. Uniformed army patrols enforced a curfew. The Navy patrolled the Thames. RAF helicopters took up position atop buildings.

17 days. This was the rationale. If we could control the movement of people we could prevent the movement of any plague sent our way. We would be able to identify the source that much quicker. Have a stronger chance of diagnosing the problem and deal with the consequences more swiftly. There would be casualties but it was in the interest of the greater good. But something still didn't make sense. Nothing had happened. Someone knew something but _what_ did they know? Everything that took place over the course of those weeks – the damage, the breakdown, the violence and loss of life it was all self-inflicted.

Then it did happen.

If life came about due to a big bang, it can be said that death – being the opposite of life – arrived in an equal and opposite manner. As silence befell this city.


	5. Chapter 5

Mo(u)rning

The sun rose across London just like any other day. In the outlying suburbs the wind gently shuffled through the trees and, combined with the dew lifting off the ground, felt refreshing. The skyline lit up, highlighting the staggering beauty that draws visitors from across the world. The sunlight bounced between towering glass facades and reflected down onto the streets below but – today – it found no face to warm.

Every year I long for winter. I do enjoy the freedom summer brings. Clothing is lighter, less bulky, I try to get away with wearing just my boardshorts and flipflops for as many days as possible. But I love winter. I can't fully explain why. It's just always been that way. Waking on that first morning after a night of heavy snow. It transforms the world. Makes everything beautiful. Cleanses it. Not just sight but smell and sound too.

Something akin to that had happened last night albeit the other side to a coin.

It wasn't just quiet. It was silent. The volume hadn't been turned down…the world was muted. I cleared my throat just to make sure it wasn't just me. Shuffled my feet. Scratched my chin. It wasn't just me. Is this the world fighting back? Are we being cleansed?

"Chap?!"

I hadn't heard that voice for a good while. I turned to see a friend, instantly recognising within me such a sense of relief to know that it wasn't just me…I'm not alone…I have a friend. I had a feeling that would play a significant part in whatever was about to come our way.

"Oxford! Mate, it is good to see you!"

"I was just thinking the same thing."

A sudden rush of memories flooded my brain. Agent Oxford had been our logistical coordinator during training. He had a keen eye and a quick brain which was ideal for calling the shots. It also transpired that he wasn't bad at football. Between training exercises we would often kick a ball about, debriefing while we did so. It helped normalise everything. He'd taken to calling me 'Chap' yet another alteration of my official moniker. Short for 'chaplain'. Seems you can never outrun your past. Once the team had learned of what little faith I carried, they too had turned to me for guidance…direction…purpose. Whatever you want to call it. I was angry at first. It frustrated me. Caused me to have to face my own questions which I had buried deep. Battle those inner conflicts. One night, in camp after just such a discussion with my team, I became aware of my lips moving in silent prayer. "May the Lord bless you…" Repeating the words my mum had spoken over me as she put me to bed. "…and keep you. May the Lord make His face shine upon you…" As a boy, these words were comforting though I had no idea what they actually meant "…and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you…" I wasn't sure why I was speaking them over these guys but I felt comforted. "…and give you His peace." From the looks on their faces, as they stared into the embers lost in their own thoughts, I guess they did too.

Yet again – right now – these words took on a renewed significance.

"Are the rest of the team here?"

"Most of them. I was first here."

"Of course!"

"Everyone else has been slowly making their way here since yesterday. No sign of Agent Tech yet."

I followed Oxford out of the room in which I'd bedded down. Still very much an office space. Stationery all still in its place like the staff had simply and spontaneously got up and left. It was all very normal. It made my head spin. Post-it note reminders stuck to monitors which were still logged on. A half-drunk mug of tea. An open, shop-bought sandwich with a couple of bites taken out of it. Signs of people working through lunch hoping to get out that little bit early and get home before the rush. Where had they gone? Had they got out?

We descended the stairs back down to the ground floor. Each step on the cold, hard, painted concrete echoed back up the stairwell.

Light on his feet – I couldn't help noticing that Oxford looked good. This wasn't unusual, he always had done, but time had not been a kind friend to me. The quintessential, Oxfordshire gent. Tall, sporty physique compared to my average height, average build. Just the right amount of stubble to look like something out of a catalogue compared to my slightly overgrown beard, wiry and greying. And, of course, the killer combination of those eyes and smile that effortlessly captured an audience. I just look…tired. The sickening thing was he didn't even realise it. Sincerely humble. Understated. Every bit the gentleman. And we loved him for it.

I was out of breath by the time we got downstairs. My legs felt heavy.

"You alright?"

"Yeah fine. Well…no. Actually, I've just found out…"

Shit.

Is it irony? I'm about to head out to…how did she put it…'defend what remains'. And here I am, a newly diagnosed diabetic. My internal battles it seemed, like everything going on out there, were only just beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

Re-introduction

The ground level displayed more evidence of the swift exit of this building's occupants than I remembered seeing last night. Clearly my focus wasn't here when I arrived. Random papers strewn across the floor. A mop and bucket tipped over in a corner, its contents draining into the lift shaft next to where it lay. Items of clothing discarded. Even phones, wallets, keys. Things I would never leave home without, just left behind.

"Messed up isn't it? What happened? Where'd they go? You get used to it. C'mon, check this out."

Oxford ran his watch over a small panel next to what looked from the outside to be a very normal door. A scruffy, laminated piece of A4, stuck to the outside with blutac, stated 'Construction Area'. Like everything else, I'd clearly paid no attention to it last night. There emitted a small beep and clunk as it unlocked, Oxford pushed it open. Behind lay a low-ceilinged room. Stepping through I could see that it spread out for what must be the whole footprint of the building. Desks and cabinets were arranged around the edge. Display boards, maps, post-it notes covered the walls behind. There was the noise of several communication systems – radios, TVs, laptops – vying for attention coming from all corners and the general din of numerous conversations. The light was dim. Like that of emergency lighting. More of a glow than light. As my eyes adjusted I saw agents reporting in at the desks, relaying intel from wherever they had travelled, picking up and checking their resources, receiving their brief.

"There they are Chap. We've been waiting for you."

I glanced over in the direction Oxford indicated. Basic, school style chairs arranged around a table covered in discarded plastic cups. Floor space filled with go-bags.

My team.

The time we had spent together in training had been short but intense. When it came to going our separate ways, unsure when…if…we would see each other again, we were tight. It feels clichéd to draw similarities between what I have with my family and what I have with these guys and, in many ways, that isn't enough. I love my brother and sisters sure, but I moved out of home at a young age. Opting to miss out on a university education and go do my own thing instead. Whatever that was supposed to be. In reality, I fell from job to job but always found myself in a position of management. And that's how I ended up here. Jack of all trades. Master of none. Every bit a living cliché in my own right.

I had been put in charge of my team for that very reason. I was strong enough in numerous areas, had acquired a broad range of skills to provide guidance. Leadership. They each had their own specialities and my job was to point them in the right direction. Literally. Ultimately we had been brought together to form a scout group. 'First in, last out' had become our motto. Our strengths lay in navigation of all terrains and ability to survive in all environments or conditions. We weren't fighters, no military background. Our team it turned out was made up of climbers, mountaineers, canoeists and kayakers with a little of the survivalist – shelter building, living off the land that kind of stuff – thrown in for good measure.

I just stood and looked from face to face. Time had indeed passed. But this was my time. Smiles spread across the circle.

Agent Lakeside broke the silence - "MATE! We've been talking about you! Got yourself a family have you? That's a schoolboy error right there!"

"What…how do you guys…?"

"She's told us everything! Don't worry, you've got a lot to catch up on!"

We sat for a good hour sharing life since training. Turned out I wasn't the only one that had got a family.

Agent Oxford had found himself a Swiss girl. Hoped to move over there before all of this kicked off.

Agent Lakeside – built solidly but, born and bred in the hills of Cumbria, he was fast over any kind of terrain and had an astonishing stamina. Having competed in international orienteering events he could also be trusted to make intuitive, snap decisions on the move. He'd fallen for a teacher and together they'd recently had their first child.

Agent West – a slim, unassuming figure. Meek in nature. He was observant, to the point of having a photographic memory and a brain that stored ridiculous amounts of technical information. He had married a nurse and also recently had a child.

Lakeside and West burst out laughing at this point. It turned out, unbeknown to them, their wives were also sisters – making them some kind of brothers-in-law and uncle to each other's kids. They only learned this at the first family Christmas. Apparently, on seeing each other, Lakeside and West forgot themselves and threw their arms around each other only to realise how this must look to the new in-laws and begin back peddling. From that moment they had to perform some unconvincing act of getting to know each other. An act that became more convincing over the next 5 or so years.

Agent Bownd – athletic and unreasonably strong for his physique, he greeted anyone and everyone with an iron bear-hug and a huge, childlike grin. A mechanic by trade he could turn his hand to most machinery and get it working again even if that did occasionally involve copious amounts of ducktape. Unfortunately for him he was on his honeymoon when he was activated.

"What about Agent Tech? You said you hadn't heard from him."

" _That_ , team is your first mission. Find and retrieve Agent Tech."

I turned on my heel. There was Agent Armitage. Our handler. She must have been in her 50's. No one really knew. What we did know is that, despite her age, calm demeanour and diminutive figure, she commanded respect from all with whom she came into contact.

"Agent Tech was working for the Home Office. Last known signal location came from inside that building."

"Nothing since? Do you think he's in one of their bunkers?"

"That's our assumption Agent Saint. It's for you to confirm his status. Bring him home. We need his skills to get this place fully operational."

Tech. It was all in the name. Unimaginative maybe but it worked for us. He was like the missing link between man and machine. A tall, sinewy figure he could handle himself when it got physical but his real skillset came into action when he was faced with riddles written in binary code. The team told me he also had a wife and two girls.

"Well, seems like we've all got our reasons to see our way through this. How about we go find Tech?"

"What do you suggest Agent Saint."

I pondered Armitage's question for a moment while my brain finally caught up with the gravity of the situation presented in front of me. I could see the looks on my team's faces, no idea what was ahead but ready and willing to confront it head on.

"Oxford, go and find out what resources we have to take out with us and establish a comms desk. We're going to need you here to get us home."

"Sir."

"Lakeside and West…maps. I want to know all available routes from here to Marsham Street. Road. Rail. River. Whatever it takes."

"On it."

"Bownd."

"Yes sir?"

"I'm sorry your celebrations got interrupted. We'll get you back to her asap."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

"Enough of that 'sir' stuff."

"Yes sir. I mean. Ok."

"Good. Now…where's my hug?"

With a sigh of relief he clasped his arms around my midriff. I'm pretty sure he cracked a rib. I was relieved when, from behind me

"Ahem. Agent Saint…"

Bownd took the hint. Gave a big grin and went off to look for the others.

"Agent Saint. You are going to be the first ones out there. You need to find Agent Tech but we need you to bring back any intel that you can gather along the way."

"Yes miss."

"I have to tell you…it was Agent Tech from whom we gathered our intelligence in the first place. It was on his information that we initiated all extreme precautions. Agent Saint. We have our doubts."

"What? About Tech?!"

"Yes Agent Saint. He has been missing for 3 weeks now. His signal blinked out moments after it was activated. We just don't know. Some presume he's dead. Others…"

"You think he's gone rogue don't you? No…not Tech. He wouldn't. Why would he? Why? Why would he do that?"

"Why does anyone do anything in this day and age Agent Saint? Put simply, one man's terrorist is another man's liberator and vice versa. I won't lie to you. At this very moment in time Agent Saint, we just don't know what the state of the game is out there."


	7. Chapter 7

Guides

We gathered back at the table half an hour later. West spread out an OS map of the area and flicked through the pages of an A-Z until he found our location. Lakeside spoke up.

"Well gents, we've been pouring over these and we think we've got a plan. As you are all aware, since activation – every area, district and zone has been locked down. We don't know what the lay of the land looks like out there further than what we can see from this roof. It's still London but more akin to post-war images taken straight from the pages of a history book. There's definitely signs of life which is always good but I can't imagine everyone will be glad to see us. Of course, at some point, we're going to need to get aid out to them but that's not our mission."

"…Tech…"

The word almost fell from my lips more like an exhale than a proper utterance. I was wrestling with a heady mixture of betrayal and disbelief.

"Yes. At this point in time, our mission is simple and needs to be swift. Our best option…"

Lakeside drew a breath,

"…seems to be to go underground."

He looked around. Each member of the team apparently waiting for another to respond. All eyes turned to me.

The journey from Richmond to Westminster on the District line – on any other day – was straightforward. No more than a few stops. Overground to start off with before heading into the heart of London.

"Take the tube? It'll be a busman's holiday!"

Apparently, I still had it in me to be light-hearted when, in reality my heart was heavy…burdened, but it broke the tension and allowed the team to carry on. Oxford chipped in next.

"I've managed to stock up your bags. I couldn't find everything but you've got the basics at least. Water. Food. Torch. First aid kit. Whistle. Maps. And I've set myself up over-there."

He pointed towards a simple desk, complete with laptop and radio. A cork board behind with a map of the city into which he'd begun placing pins and writing on post-its. It was basic but it did the job.

"Unfortunately for now we'll only be communicating over your headsets. When you get Tech back, he'll help set up our eyes – CCTV, webcams, phones etc – but we're blind until then. Of course, we've got you on our geo-positioning but you'll need to report back anything and everything you see as you go. I'll update our maps as you do."

We were interrupted…

"Agent Saint!"

Armitage called out from across the room. She was apparently briefing another team.

"Excuse me gents."

They nodded and carried on the briefing. I moved over to where she was stood.

"Yes miss?"

She turned from the group to address me.

"Saint, you're going to need some firepower."

"The thought had crossed my mind but you know my team, they aren't military. Carrying a gun is one thing but using it…?"

Still in denial, secretly I was hoping we wouldn't need to use force. We'd got used to moving silently. In training we consistently demonstrated the light touch. Being able to dip into the enemies back pocket and get home before he even realised he'd been robbed. No casualties on either side.

"I know you and your team like to avoid conflict but what if it comes looking for you? This is no time to be naïve!"

I felt chastised. Like a schoolboy standing before a headmistress.

"That's why I've taken the liberty of calling in some support."

I looked over her shoulder at the men stood behind. They were big guys. All of them well over a foot taller than me and strong. But young. They were boisterously bragging about the variety of weaponry they each carried. Brandishing their guns and making phallic gestures. I couldn't help wondering if these guys would just as quickly get us killed.

"Miss, thank you but…"

Armitage cut me off again.

"Agent Saint, if you think for a minute that I'm about to send you into the field with these rookies then you have clearly misjudged me. You think these men are the kind of agents I drafted in?! I don't know who this team's handler is but when I do find out you can guarantee that _I'll_ be the one going rogue! No…Agent Saint, these men think that world out there is like some kind of _video game_ …"

She spat the words with distinct distaste but, truth is, I would love nothing more than to lose myself in some RPG…forget about the worries of the real world.

"…I would not jeopardise this mission or your men like that."

I allowed myself to give an audible sigh of relief.

" _That_ is your support team."

Sat around a small coffee table, over in a darkened corner of the room just to one side of the entrance, was a small group of agents. They were keenly discussing documents laid out in front of them.

"Those three?"

"Four…Agent Saint…look again."

I stared but saw nothing until the slightest of movements and a short glint of light caught my eye, reflected from the face of an agent's watch. Nothing more than a shadow against the wall.

"Who are they?"

"Why don't you go and introduce yourself?"

I nervously approached the table. The three around the table continued their conversation busily in hushed tones. I remembered being impressed, as a young boy, by my sisters and their friends' ability to hold numerous conversations simultaneously. Here I was, witnessing the same thing but happening in a variety of languages. They were skilled. I felt put at ease. Cleared my throat.

Each one of them slowly turned toward me. All four pairs of eyes seemed to lock with mine. Assessing the figure that stood before them. I no longer felt safe. I felt exposed. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but it was obvious this team was experienced. Not just well trained. They had time under their belts. Time spent in combat.

"Agent Saint, meet…The _Guides_."

I noted the sparkle in Armitage's eyes. This was exactly her sense of humour. Us, 'the Scouts', being teamed up with 'the Guides'

"Agents Wolfe, Mabeobja, Eger and Shadow."

With that Armitage left and strode back over to the previous team. I felt sorry for them. I felt sorry for me. I felt like a kid on his first day of school, left in the playground and expected to make friends.

These women couldn't have been more different from that team of young lads. Petite, lean, professional. If we were at school Eger would have quickly been labelled a nerd. Glasses tucked under her long blonde hair, she was quiet. Studious. Mabeobja looked up from her chair with a kind, welcoming expression. She exuded a calm confidence. Wolfe's hair was cropped short, fringe framing her face. It was stylish and functional. Her eyes cut deep. Shadow remained hidden. I found myself unable to try and even glance in her direction. There was a silent ferocity emanating from where she stood. I needed to get a grip. Of myself. Of the situation. I needed to know who I was dealing with if they were going to be joining my cohort.

"So…how did you guys meet?"

What a dumbass question. Like something from a tragic blind-date. Thankfully Agent Mabeobja chose to step in and save me from myself.

"Twitter."

I assumed she was joking but instead of a proper reply all I could say was

"You're _American_!"

At least, I think she was. I don't know why but I didn't expect that. I just blurted it out. Definitely a strong New Yorker twang but there were hints of other accents in there too. Nordic? German maybe. I couldn't place it. She smiled politely. Eger smirked from behind the book she was reading. Looked like some kind of manual. Wolfe continued to stare straight into my soul. I could sense Shadow growing restless at my amateur display but Mabeobja's calm demeanour helped me regain my composure.

"Are you all from the States?"

Wolfe took up the lead. She stood and offered her hand. Again, unexpected but I shook it and felt relief.

"I'm from Raleigh, North Carolina. Mab, as you picked up, is from New York. Summer there – she pointed at Eger - she's from Thailand. And Dawn…"

"Bonjour."

A whisper served to only accentuate her silent nature. A fellow European. I failed to imagine how this group had all got here. Were they here before the lockdown Armitage must have brought them here in advance. Why? The mission with which we'd been tasked had completely distracted me from the fact that I still had no idea what had happened.

"Well, I guess you should come and meet my team."

I turned aside and gestured the way. Wolfe lead. Mab followed. Summer dropped the book on the table and stepped over. I didn't even hear Dawn move but she had somehow already passed me. I glanced back down at the table. That book. Ragged. Pages falling from the binding. Scrawled notes. _April Kelleher_. Where had I heard that name before…

"Shit. You were _there_?!"

They stopped mid-step.

Heads dropped.

Only Mab turned back to look at me. Her face had changed. There was deep sorrow resting upon it now.

"Yes...we were there."


	8. Chapter 8

Dawn

Emerging from the dim-lighting of the building into the day we had to shield our eyes. By the time we were gathered, this new team of ours, on the steps out the front, the sun was low in the sky. Had it just risen or was it setting? It had rained too. It was overcast as it often is but it was bright. Light reflecting up from the surface water as much as it was breaking through the cloud cover. We paused. I hesitated. Was this a good idea? I had no idea whether or not we'd lost half the day already. And at this time of year it wouldn't be long before the sun tracked back to the horizon anyway. Richmond to Westminster, on a good day, was half an hour by tube. With all services down and who knows what else out there, we didn't expect to be back tonight. We only had enough resources to last for two days. Three if we're clever. This wasn't a reconnaissance mission. We could report back possible cache sites en-route but the orders were clear. Get out. Get back. Avoid drawing attention to our presence and purpose.

It was cold too. Not enough to cause the ground to be icy but I realised I could see my cohort's breath as they checked their equipment one last time. The storerooms hadn't yet been stocked with standard issue, tactical clothing so I was still in my commuter uniform. Various grades of black and grey. Suit trousers and jacket. Shirt. For some reason I was still wearing my tie. Maybe it was familiarity. It had become comfortable. Shoes. Cheap but did the job of getting me around London from building to building. I was under no illusion they'd be less than practical for trekking through the underground network. My team were still in whatever garb they'd arrived in too. Jeans. Tshirts. Jackets. Trainers mostly. Only the Guides looked like they were dressed for the part.

Oxford's voice broke into my train of thought.

"Check in guys."

"Saint – checking in."

"Lakeside – here."

"West – I'm here."

"Bownds – yes miss!"

The Guides gave each other a look at Bownds' sense of humour and stupid grin. Bownds saw it and carried on grinning.

Wolfe continued,

"Caduceus."

"Mab."

"Dawn."

"Summer."

Succinct. Efficient. Clinical. I realised there tended to be a bit of banter over the comms between my guys. It wasn't a lack of personality that I witnessed from the Guides. Quite the opposite in fact. It was perfect, operational unity. In synch with each other. As were my team. But this was different.

Wolfe stepped in close and quietly addressed me.

"Saint, can I have a word?"

"Yes, of course."

"Armitage told me about your diagnosis. I know we have our orders but you're going to be no help to anyone if we don't get hold of some meds. If that, out there, is anything like what we saw in New York you can guarantee that any high-street chemist will have been ransacked already. We've a better chance of finding what you need at a hospital but even then we can't guarantee they won't be heavily guarded."

"Guarded?"

"Yes, Saint. A situation like this does funny things to humanity. It changes you. Good/bad. Right/wrong. It's all relative now. Don't think for a minute, just because a guy is in uniform, that he'll still be living by the oath he swore. People will do whatever they need to do to survive. Whoever is in charge? They'll be whoever had the firepower. Whoever had the manpower. There will be gangs, factions, whatever you want to call them running those streets. And they will have divided and conquered. What we used to value? Doesn't mean anything anymore. The 'richest', the most powerful…they'll be the ones controlling resources now. Food, water…"

"…medicine."

"Yes Saint. So, you see, we _are_ going to have a fight on our hands. How much have you got on you?"

"Got? Of what? I haven't got anything."

"Your doctor didn't set you up?!"

"No. I was supposed to get to the chemist to pick it up."

I remembered the prescription I'd stuffed in a pocket. Searched around my jacket and pulled it out. I hadn't even looked at it. Not checked what it was I was now going to rely on regularly just to eat. I'd just folded it up and tucked it away

"I'm a nurse by training. Let me have a look." She quickly scanned the ragged document. "Saint, you need a way to check your blood sugar levels. And you're gonna need insulin. Two types in fact. I know what you need I just don't know where to find it."

"UCLH."

"What?"

"University College London Hospitals. They've a chemist on site. Massive stocks downstairs and the lab for making it all on the seventh floor. We'd need to pick up the Victoria or Northern Line to get to Warren Street."

"Right. So, we have our heading."

Galvanised by Wolfe's matter-of-fact approach I took a long, deep breath. The fresh, autumn air filled my lungs and refreshed me from the inside out. I stood a bit taller then became aware of Mab and Dawn seemingly mid-dispute. Arguing. My school-boy French could only pick out the cursing.

"What's up with them two?"

Wolfe said nothing.

"What? What is it?"

"They just don't see eye to on…something."

"Wolfe, we need to trust each other. I've seen how Dawn looks when Tech's name is mentioned."

Wolfe glanced at me. I waited. She looked back toward Mab and Dawn then drew closer again. Under hushed tones she explained,

"Dawn hasn't always been like this. Suspicious I mean. When we first met she was very different. She and her friend. They would be laughing all the time. Never took anything too seriously. Believe it or not she wore a lot of colour. Then…there was an argument. I don't know what it was over but I reckon I've figured it out now. At the time I assumed it was just friends falling out. But it got vicious. I mean full on. One dinnertime they were literally at each other's' throats in the canteen. That same night I was woken up by someone leaving the post. In the dark I could see a second figure move after the first, I wasn't quick enough to see exactly who but I pulled on my gear and followed. I gave chase until the Dark Zone.

I had no idea what this Dark Zone place was but didn't want to interrupt her flow.

"I wasn't going in there without back up. So, I waited to see if they came back out. It must have been an hour or so before I turned back. On approaching base I saw Dawn, fallen to her knees, uncontrollably sobbing. When I touched her shoulder she sprung up, knife drawn, a look of fear and hate in her eyes. Thankfully I was alert enough to block the blade from connecting with my own throat. There was blood already dripping from it. Her hands. Her forearms. Her front. Soaked deep red. I took her inside and got her cleaned up. We were sat ready for breakfast when everyone else started waking. Everyone that is except for her friend."

"Her friend…she'd gone rogue?"

"I asked no questions. She told me no lies. I think she was trying to get Dawn to go too."

"…and Tech…"

"When it comes to Cleaners, Rikers or even the LMB…"

…more phrases and terms with which I'm completely unfamiliar. When it comes to what actually happened in New York, I clearly had a lot to catch up on.

"…Dawn is swift. Efficient. Merciless. But she saves something in reserve for rogue agents. It can get…messy. If your friend has indeed gone rogue Saint then you better pray you get to him before Dawn. All you need to know, for now, is that she's a good agent. She's always got your back. Just…"

"What?"

"Just don't turn your back on her."


	9. Chapter 9

Doubt

We must have walked for an hour before reaching Richmond station. Felt like a lifetime. Normally a 10-minute journey, if that, for the single stop by train, but it shouldn't have taken more than half an hour on foot. Knowing that the trains hadn't been running for weeks now we opted to simply trek along the track because it was the most direct route and meant we could steer clear of the actual roads. Erring on the side of caution was the best way forward. We simply didn't know what – or who – we might run in to.

The track was clear. It had taken longer to get there simply because we were stopping and inspecting the route ahead every hundred yards. We moved silently. A mixture of necessity and each being lost in our own thoughts. The light was dropping and we didn't want to use our own torches unless absolutely necessary. It was easy to remain secluded due to the high and overhanging nature of the platforms which fed directly into fences and hedgerows that carried similar features. I don't know if the supply had been cut or fuses and bulbs blown but it was certainly the case that any light coming from nearby houses, doorways and windows were of a flickering, candle-lit nature. Some had even made use of the recent left-over festivities. Pumpkin faces sat facing outward. Were they there to welcome or to warn? May as well have been actual decapitations the effect they had on me. There were certainly enough odd noises to keep us company on that short journey too. Animals ferreting about in the undergrowth. Clattering, howls and hollers emanating from further afield. We paused until the noise subsided. I could hear the slow and steady breath of my team through the silence that followed.

"I'll carve a Division logo in Tech's head if…"

Although it was barely a whisper, because she was the first to utter anything the contrast it gave to the atmosphere with which we'd moved so far, Dawn may as well have been shouting. I was clearly on high alert because it also caused my heart to pound in my ears. Mab responded,

"Oh no you won't. Let's take a chill pill here honey."

"But…but…he's rogue. Or I'm _sure_ he is. Did I tell you I don't like rogues? Cause I don't like rogues."

Dawn directed these words at me. I'd figured this out for myself. She knew that. I knew that. Now we were absolutely clear.

Mab continued - "Innocent until proven guilty. And in such situations people are usually more useful alive than not. Remember what Max said 'Every rogue started as an agent. Every rogue has a reason, which means they each have a lesson.'"

"Someone knows his stuff…and they've already turned their back on us! It's just gonna end like…"

"Then you don't know how to talk them out of it."

Dawn turned away. Hissed under her breath "I just want to _kill_ …"

"Worry not. We'll get there eventually."

We'd reached Richmond. They both returned their attention to the track ahead but a lone figure lay across it. From this distance we couldn't tell either way if they were dead or alive. Lakeside slipped up onto the platform to the right and cautiously moved forward. Bounds and West did the same on the opposite. Lakeside drew parallel to the figure and peered over the edge then signalled that it was safe to continue. Mab and Dawn approached along the track. As Summer moved away I gripped Wolfe's elbow,

"I've got questions."

"That doesn't come as a surprise."

"Armitage introduced her as Agent Shadow. But you call her 'Dawn'…"

"She was seriously broken up by what happened back in the DZ. Literal. Broken. To help her through it we speak to her…brighter side."

"She's _schizophrenic_?!"

"Not exactly. It's just a coping mechanism. But it helps us remind her who she really is. You know, reign in the darker recesses of her heart or mind or…"

"Soul?"

"We all do it Saint. Box things. File them away. It can be useful to have that energy to draw on in battle. I know it's come to my aid more than once. And you?"

"What about me?"

How long have you had your doubts?"

"About what?"

"I'm not a religious person myself but I would say you are looking for answers. Or maybe you've found them and just don't know what to do with that. So you've boxed it. Tagged it. Filed it away to come back to when you need to."

Like a book.

I could see my own breath in the dropping temperature. There seemed to be no breath coming from the body. Lakeside was almost on top of it when suddenly it…they spoke. A cracked, quiet voice.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Lakeside didn't flinch which is exactly what I did. He looked back at me then, kneeling down close to, but out of reach of, the man he gently replied,

"No. We're not going to kill you."

"They killed my wife. My daughter. Are you them? Are you here to kill me?"

"Who did?"

"I ran. I was at work. I couldn't get home. I spent days. They tried to stop me getting through but I got through. I got home. My wife. My daughter. They killed them. Were they already there or had they followed me?"

"Who?"

"Oh god, did they follow me? Did I take them there? I was so happy to be home. I didn't know what was going on. They were dead."

"Who? Who followed you? Who killed your wife?"

"I ran. They were dead. There wasn't anything I could do. Was there? Could I have done something? Should I have done something?"

"Hey, mister. Who? Who are you talking about?"

He just carried on. Stuck inside his own thoughts. Rambling. A cyclic series of doubt and self-accusation. We moved on.

"Hey!"

We carried on.

"HEY!"

No one looked back until,

"PLEASE!"

Lakeside paused and turned back a couple of steps.

"Will you? Please?"

"What do you need from me?"

"Please. Kill me?"

"I won't…"

"I can't do it. I can't even bring myself to have a proper go. They're dead. I have nothing. They killed them. I can't do it. I'd kill them if I could but I can't even kill myself. Please…"

Lakeside started walking back towards us.

"Please…PLEASE! _Don't_ forget about me! Even when I doubt you…I'm…no good without…you…"

His voice faded. His eyes had moved from pleading the back of Lakeside's disappearing figure to the night sky. I too looked up. It was a clear night. Stars shone above like they always had done. I'd too had pleaded on bended knee before. Spoke, cried, screamed into the dark. At times I'd felt I got a reply. At others – silence.

The group had moved on and were huddled near the entrance to our first descent underground. Lakeside, keeping an eye trained on the darkness ahead, leaned over and asked,

"We did the right thing, right? I mean…leaving him?"

"Yeah. Of course."

I had my doubts.


End file.
